Unusual Introduction
by Harry Potterfan girl22
Summary: When young Esmeralda decides she's tired of her wealthy, controlled life, she wants a new one. She's scared and confused at first. But when a cheery, gypsy King shows her some kindness...  A three-shot! My first story, so review please?
1. Rules, rules and more rules!

As she continued to dance, the crowd increased. The girl spun, and turned, and swirled her way through the playful melody coming from the man's violin. With a tambourine in one hand, she played along with the beat and danced her heart out. She hadn't even realized how big the crowd was getting, nor did she even know how she _started_ dancing. All she remembered was walking down the street and hearing the song and then she was sucked into it.

When the man's song had ended, the girl ended her dance with a cartwheel. The crowd applauded and cheered. Overwhelmed, and out of breath, she sat down on the coble street with a big grin on her face. She set the tambourine down so she could fix her long, black hair that was now in her face. After wiping the sweat off her forehead, she noticed that people were throwing coins into her tambourine. Her thick eyebrows furrowed at the sight of people actually _giving _her money for her dance.

When the crowd had disappeared, she stood up and carefully picked up the tambourine. She counted the money and gaped when she realized that she had collected 20 coins! She didn't understand _why _she had gotten so much, but it made her happy. It pleased her that people liked her dancing enough to pay her for it.

Smiling, she headed straight to her home, as it was getting very dark. As soon as she stepped inside her house, she was showered with questions from her parents.

"Young lady, where have you been? It's nearly 9 o'clock." Her mother said. The girl had only opened her mouth before she was cut off from her father. "What's that you've got there?" The girl tried to hide the money in her fist. "My tambourine."

"Yes, but what's in your other hand?" he continued. She panicked for a split second; they would never approve of what she had done. But she reminded herself that honesty was the best policy. "Money."

"I'm sorry?"

"Money, father. I have money." Trembling slightly, she held out her hand to show them the coins. Her parents gasped. "Where did you get this money? You haven't been stealing, have you?"

"No! No, of course not, mother! I earned this money." The girl said honestly.

"And what have you done to 'earn' this money?" They questioned her. She stared at them long and hard before opening her mouth. "Dancing." She muttered.

"Dancing? Dancing where, exactly?"

Her eyes grew round and her mind searched and searched for a logical reason to have earned such money. But when she hasn't found one excuse, she sighed. "In the street."

"The street!" Her mother cried. "You were _dancing in the street for money_?"

"No, mother! Well, yes…but not on purpose! I-I just heard the man playing and I started to dance! Then people started to watched and they put coins in the tambourine…" When her explanation came out of her mouth, she frowned at how ridiculous it sounded.

"You KNOW it is a _gypsy _thing to do; dancing for money!" Her father said.

"But, father! I was just dancing! I really wasn't trying to earn ANYTHING!" there was a short silence until she asked a question her parents didn't want to hear. "What's so bad about gypsies, anyway?"

Her mother and father shared a look and her Father said, "Gypsies are bad; evil. They steal and hurt. They are cunning and use witchcraft to get what they want."

The girl was shocked. She had often seen gypsies on the streets and they didn't seem evil; in fact, most of them seemed…friendly. Was that man that played the song for her a gypsy? He did look the 'gypsy' type. But if he was a gypsy, why was he so kind and cheery?

"But…I've seen gypsies…and even talked to some and they didn't seem they would harm anyone."

Her parents sighed. "Just promise you'll stay away from anything gypsy-like. No talking to them, no looking at them, no _acting _like them; that means no dancing in the street, alright?" her mother finished.

This was very unfair! The girl loved dancing almost as much as she loved her family! How could she _possibly _stop dancing in the street? It was the only place where she could dance freely! The dance class she sometimes attended had one too many rules. You always had to be perfect! While out on the street, she could dance as differently as she wanted!

She wanted to protest and speak her mind; that was the thing she would normally do, but thought better of it. "Yes, ma'am." Her parents smiled.

"Good. Now, off to bed, little Agnes!" She flinched. Oh, how she hated that name! She had always longed to be called something different; anything!

She kissed her parents goodnight and unwillingly went to bed.


	2. The Runaway

A week had passed since Agnes was told the "truth" about gypsies. She had kept her promise…well, _half _her promise. She stopped dancing, but she continued to see the gypsies. She didn't like disobeying her parents, but ever since that conversation she's been getting more interested in them every time she saw one! She saw them reading palms, dancing and singing! She even got acquainted to a few.

She was especially interested in a younger gypsy with black hair. Every day at 4 o'clock, he would come out and do a puppet show for the younger kids and sometimes tell stories. He was a very happy, silly gypsy. He would make the children laugh and kept them very interested in what was going on. Agnes was a little embarrassed by watching a puppet show with a group of 9 year olds, so she never joined the group. But she stood close enough to be able to hear him. He never failed to make her smile: which only made her wonder even more.

One evening, Agnes was sitting in her usual spot, waiting for the gypsy. And sure enough, at the stroke of 4 he showed up. But not with a puppet; a violin. He began to play and slowly people were gathering around. Agnes had a sudden urge to start dancing. As she tried to fight it, the music began to get faster; just her style. After a minute of mentally kicking herself, she jumped beside him and she began dancing! The gypsy boy gave her a quick and curious look, but then grinned and continued to play again. The crowd started to clap and did a sort of jig every time she did an impressive move.

She felt her blood pumping and started laughing! After a week of no dancing, she began to feel happy again! When the gypsy boy finished his song, there was a great uproar of applause. People threw coins at her and cheered some more. "You're a wonderful dancer!" The gypsy said.

Agnes smiled. "Thank you!"

He looked at her carefully and then grinned. "So _you're _the girl everyone's talking about."

"What do you mean?" Her eye brows furrowed together.

"Everywhere, all around town, people are talking of a half-gypsy girl.

"Half-gypsy?" She repeated frantically. "No! No, no, no. I'm no gypsy. I just…"

"Like to dance in the streets for money?" He teased her.

"Not for money! I…."

She didn't know how to respond. People were calling…her...a _gypsy_? She racked her brains for a clever response, but had nothing. So she bent down and collected all the coins. "Here." She handed the coins to him.

"Why_, __mon ami danse?" _He asked, his face lighting up with curiosity.

"It was your music they loved! I'm just a dancer."

"Ah, but you're dancing was something to enjoy as well!" he said sincerely.

"Thank you." Agnes smiled. "But you need the money more than I do."

The gypsy boy stared at her. He was amazed at how generous this beautiful, wealthy girl was. He's been living in Paris for 3 years, and no one has ever been as kind as her. He smiled. "_Merci, mon ami._"

Agnes would have liked to stay there with him longer, but had no choice. It was getting very dark and she had to get home. "Goodnight!" She cried without an explanation and ran off down the street to her home.

She went inside as quietly as she could; she didn't want her parents to realize how late she was…again. There was no light in her house, so she had to feel her way to her bedroom. That ultimately failed; she ran into her chair and shrieked. Her parents rushed into the room and lit a candle.

"Agnes! There you are!" Her mother cried, throwing her arms around her. "We've been so worried!"

"I'm fine!" She reassured her parents. Her father, however, wasn't as concerned about that right now. "You've got some explaining to do."

"I know." Agnes sighed. "I'm late, and I'm sorry. I was…out."

"Where?" She failed to answer this question. If they knew she was dancing again…she couldn't tell them; she _wouldn't. _She had to make up an excuse.

"I was just…taking a walk." She said lamely. She frowned at her poor excuse. They would never believe her. And sure enough…their faces became hard.

"You were dancing again, weren't you?"

"No! No, no! I wasn't! I was…" Agnes failed to think of anything clever.

"There's talk about a half-gypsy girl! And we have a feeling that it's you!" Her father exclaimed.

"Father, I'm sorry! I just—"

"We will not have a gypsy in this house!" He shouted.

"I'm NOT a gypsy!" She cried, feeling water swelling in her eyes. "I was just dancing!" This was so unfair! No matter how many times she tried to explain to them that she merely just a girl who liked to dance, they wouldn't listen. She was getting really tired of her life being controlled by unreasonable rules! It irked her before, but now she was at her breaking point. One more ridiculous assumption and she would snap!

"I don't wanna hear another word! Just go to your room! I've never been so ashamed of you."

Agnes fell silent. The words pierced her like a million cutlasses. Her parents never said anything like that to her before. She felt more tears coming so she let out a small whimper and ran into her room.

Agnes had a hard time falling asleep that night. She felt misunderstood. Her parents never really knew her well. They never understood her as much as they could have. Her eyes began to droop and she was almost asleep when she heard them talking. She sat up straight to listen.

"You were a bit hard on her." Her mother whispered.

There was a pause and then her father answered. "I suppose I shouldn't have told her that, but it was the truth. She needs to learn her place!"

"I agree, but we can't just keep yelling at her. If we want her to learn, we have to use our brains." Her mother reasoned. There was a silence and Agnes began to think if they had stopped talking to go to bed until her father said something unthinkable.

"She's not allowed to dance at all." She had to cover her mouth to stop her from gasping.

"Don't you think that' a little drastic?" Her mother questioned. Agnes nodded her head violently and whispered to herself, "Yes, mother. Tell him 'no'!"

"Do you have a better idea?" Her mother said. Her mother was silent and then sighed. "I suppose it's our only option. We'll tell her in the morning."

Agnes heard footsteps and a door closing and figured her parents went to bed. She was lost for words. Surely they weren't serious? They aren't really going to stop her from dancing, were they? She closed her eyes and thought for moment; thought about a life without dancing. She was very unhappy in her vision. Her eyes snapped open. She wasn't upset now…she was angry. Dancing was the only thing that kept her smiling in this boring town. There was only one thing to do. If her parents were going to forbid her dancing under their roof, then she would have to find a different roof.

Agnes got dressed in one of her average looking dresses and opened up her window. She took one more look around her room and felt as if she were suffocating. "_Au revoir_." She muttered and climbed out her window and into the dead of night.


	3. She has a protector

As quiet as it was, Agnes couldn't hear anything over her beating heart. It was the first time she disobeyed her parents, not to mention run away from home. It seemed like a good idea at first, but perhaps it only seemed that way because of her anger. As scared as she was, she wasn't turning back.

She crept along the streets as if she were a mouse. Just as she was starting to calm down, she realized there was another problem: where was she to go? She had no home, and no friends. Panic stricken, she sat down on the ground, pulled her legs up to her chest, and threw her head into her arms.

"Don't cry, don't cry." She told herself angrily. It was foolish of her to cry, she brought it upon herself.

Hours passed and she remained in that position. It was nearly 3 in the morning when she heard footsteps. Her head snapped up and she pushed her long, bushy black hair out of her face. She saw a middle aged man standing there with brown hair and brown eyes—cold, brown eyes. (I think you can guess who I'm talking about)

"My dear child, are you alright?" His voice was frighteningly deep. Agnes did nothing. She made no movement or said a word; she just…looked at him.

"Are you lost?" He asked. Again, Agnes just stared. He made her insides freeze. Looking at him made her very uneasy, so she looked at the ground. The man walked closer to her. She violently shook her head. "N-no." She said.

The man smiled awfully. "She speaks." Agnes inched away. "Are you sure you're not lost?"

"I'm not lost." She said quietly.

"Then why are you out here all by yourself, crying? It is not wise for a pretty young lady, such as yourself, to be out alone." He said greasily.

Agnes was beginning to get scared; when she pictured running away, she imagined freedom and fun. This was not even close. The man reached for her hand, but Agnes swatted it away and stood up. She almost let her mouth fall open and allow insults to flood out. But she thought better of it; she replied cunningly.

"You're quite right, _sir._ I should be home. Goodnight." She bowed her head slightly and walked off, but it wasn't long before he caught her…literally. He had managed to get hold of her arm and stopped her from walking.

"If you need a place to stay for the night, there's plenty of room at my home." He said with a nasty grin.

Agnes shook him off. "Get away from me." She said in a deadly, but strong whisper. When she looked into his eyes she noticed something…something that shouldn't be allowed. She couldn't place her finger on it, but she knew it didn't mean anything good. She began to run.

Agnes was very thin and had strong legs from all the dancing, so it wasn't hard for her to run fast. But being a grown man, he could catch up easily. She kept running until she ran into a dead end. There was no way out. Panting, she looked around wildly for an escape, but found nothing. When the man reached her, he looked mad; lustful, even. _There's no hope, _she thought. She started to cry. The man barely took 2 steps when someone jumped right in front of him, blocking his path to Agnes.

"Gypsy." The man snarled.

"Leave this girl alone." The gypsy boy said. The man stared at him, hard-faced. There was a silence between them.

"What did you think I was going to— "

"I know _exactly _what you were going to do, _salaud._" The gypsy said, bitterly. "And you will NOT harm her while I'm here."

"What did you call me?" The man spat.

"I'll call you something much worse, believe me, Frollo. If you do not leave this girl, you will be sorry." The gypsy threatened. The man looked at him long and hard, glanced at Agnes and then said angrily, "Mark my words, gypsy: You will pay!" He took off down the streets and was gone.

There was another silence between the two. This boy had just saved her, though she's never spoken to him before. "Thank you." She said quietly. When the boy stepped into the moonlight she saw his face and recognized him immediately. She gasped. "You're the puppeteer!" Her cheeks turned red.

The gypsy grinned at her blush. "And you're the dancer."

Agnes laughed. She felt a whole lot better than she did when she left the house. This boy just had that effect on her. "Thank you very much." She said to him. He smiled, but then it quickly turned into a frown. "Did he hurt you?" Agnes shook her head. He smiled a little "Good."

"What is your name, anyway?" She asked him.

"Clopin. Clopin Trouillefou, at your service." He made a quick bow which made her laugh.

"That's a mouthful." She said and he grinned. "That's why people call me Clopin. And who are you?"

Agnes opened her mouth, but closed it instantly. She did NOT want to use the name that she loathed more than anything in this world. "I…don't have one." She lied. Surely he wouldn't believe her. He looked at her skeptically, but didn't press the matter. "No name, eh?" he chuckled.

"How did you get all the way in this part of town so early, _petite ange?"_

"I ran away." She stated simply. His eyes widened. "Ran away! Why?"

"I…don't know. I guess I was tired of rules and enforcements. I wanted a life like yours, I suppose."

He chuckled. "It's not all it's cracked up to be, believe me."

She stared at him, mouth open slightly. "Be that as it may, I am NOT going back. I'd rather live on the streets than back in my old house."

"Oh no! You will not!" He said.

"I will not? What won't I do?" She asked him, her thick eyebrows knitting together.

"You will not live on the streets! You will live with me, with all of us."

Her eyes widened. He was offering her a home! No, he was DEMANDING her a home! She couldn't help but feel her heart warm a bit. "But…"

"No 'butt's! You will come to the Court of Miracles with me and my fellow gypsies. I will not let _mon petite chere _live on the streets. You can finally become a full-time gypsy. No more of this 'half-gypsy' nonsense."

Agnes was silent, but felt her entire body warming up. She felt tears coming to her eyes, but she blinked them away. "Thank you!" She cried and gave the gypsy boy a hug. He grinned and patted her hair. "But since you don't have a name, you need one, no?" She pulled away and looked at him, grinning and nodded. "But what shall we call you?" He rubbed his hand on his chin and examined her up and down. Finally, he land on those beautiful, green emeralds in her eye sockets. He thought a little and the smiled. "Esmeralda."

Agnes smiled and said, "I love it!" He grinned. "One more thing," he said and pulled a stitched band around a black string out of his pocket and hand it to her.

"What is it?" Esmeralda asked.

"Just remember this, _amie, _when you wear this woven band, you hold the city in your hands." He said. She looked at him curiously, but nodded and put it around her neck.

"Come now, _Esmeralda_," he said emphasizing her new beautiful name. "We must introduce you to the others." Esmeralda smiled.


End file.
